


Maybe If You're Good

by circ_bamboo



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 07:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3010550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circ_bamboo/pseuds/circ_bamboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So, we share an ex."</p>
<p>Bucky seriously thought about grabbing one of the knives on the counter and stabbing Clint for trying to talk to him before coffee, but he'd promised Steve he wouldn't do that and promised Tony that he wouldn't get any more blood on surfaces that didn't clean easily.</p>
<p>(And then there is snark and wallsex.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe If You're Good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adorable_eggplant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adorable_eggplant/gifts).



> So, there's a SS/2B for the Padres and/or the Pirates named Clint Bar **m** es. He was traded recently, and I misread the name scrolling across the bottom of the television screen.
> 
> ... and then this happened, thanks to adorable_eggplant/fake-jungle-oboe. At least they beta-read it for me?
> 
> I regret nothing.
> 
> (There are blink-and-you'll-miss-'em spoilers for AoS S2 through episode 8.)

"So, we share an ex."

Bucky seriously thought about grabbing one of the knives on the counter and stabbing Clint for trying to talk to him before coffee, but he'd promised Steve he wouldn't do that and promised Tony that he wouldn't get any more blood on surfaces that didn't clean easily. Instead he contented himself with pouring a cup of coffee, doctoring it with an amount of cream and sugar that would have been unheard of at pretty much any point in his history prior to living in Stark Tower, and draining it in two gulps.

Once he'd finished, he set the mug down, looked over at Clint who was sitting cross-legged on the counter, eating some sort of cereal that seemed to be mostly marshmallows, and drawled, "Which one?"

Clint paused with the spoon still in his mouth and, after a moment of bugged-out eyes, said something that could charitably have been interpreted as, "What?"

Bucky poured himself another cup of coffee with a little less cream and sugar this time and leaned against the counter as casually as an assassin with a metal arm possibly could. (Which was surprisingly casual; pajama pants with Christmas mice on them -- in March -- helped.) "Which one?" he said. "I've got two floating around, and right now they're fucking each other." He made an exaggerated gesture of looking at his wrist, where there wasn't a watch because he wasn't dressed yet, and said, "Well, I don't know about exactly this minute, but, you know, generally."

"Natasha," Clint said after a long moment in which he pulled the spoon out of his mouth, put it in the half-finished bowl, and set the bowl to the side. "I gave up on blondes after Bobbi. Ex-wife," he added. He stared at a point somewhere over Bucky's head for a long moment after he stopped speaking, his eyes starting to glaze over a bit, and then shook himself quickly, all over, like a dog.

"I rather like blonds," Bucky said, looking Clint over from head to toe. "Introduce me to her?"

"Oh hell fucking no," Clint said. "She's -- I don't know, deep cover somewhere. I think. Probably not HYDRA. Too busy having hatesex with the rebound guy after me. And I don't care if you're the Winter fucking Soldier, she would eat you alive."

"Mm," Bucky said noncommittally.

"Also," Clint said, "she wasn't blonde the last time I saw her." He shrugged, and picked up the bowl and started eating again.

"That's fine," Bucky said. "I like redheads, too. Also brunettes. I'm not that picky."

"So I've heard," Clint said, leering rather ludicrously.

"Oh yeah? What have you heard?" Bucky's coffee was his preferred temperature right now, so he savored it, enjoying the smooth bitterness almost as much as he was enjoying flirting with Clint.

"Heard you're good with your hands," Clint said, quirking one eyebrow. "And that you've got damn fine aim. You know, almost as good as mine."

"Almost as good," Bucky said. He gave Clint his best deadly assassin deadpan stare, and Clint just grinned.

"Well, one of us is Hawkeye, and it ain't you," he pointed out.

"One of us has over fifty recorded kills," Bucky said.

"One of us has only been shooting people for about twenty years now," Clint said. "You know, instead of eighty."

"I think if you add up only the time where I wasn't frozen, I'm about five years younger than you are," Bucky pointed out.

"Oh, is that how you're playing it?" Clint said. He straightened his legs, kicking his heels lightly against the cabinets, and leaned over to put his cereal bowl in the sink.

"Well, it's the truth."

"All right," Clint said, hopping down from the counter and pounding one fist into the opposite hand. "It's on."

"What's on?"

"You, me, shooting range, handguns, twenty minutes." Clint poked Bucky in the chest with one finger. "Ow, shit. Did they replace your chest muscles with granite?"

"That was my sternum, Barton," Bucky said. "How the hell did you manage to kill anyone if you can't tell the difference between muscles and bone?"

"Twenty minutes," Clint said darkly, and slipped out of the kitchen.

Bucky shrugged, finished his coffee, and left as well.

***

"Yessss! Oh my fucking God, I just beat the Winter Soldier in a shootout! I am the _best_!"

So Clint won.

Through the first nine rounds they were dead even, although not perfect. Close, though; they'd each lost a point in the third round, but had been shot for shot for the rest. 

Then Clint, that little _asshole_ , waited until Bucky was just about to pull the trigger on round ten -- the last round -- when he chose that moment to roll his shoulders and flex his biceps. And normally, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, Bucky would be immune; he'd be so in the zone that he wouldn't notice anyone, let alone someone supposedly on his side, but . . . 

Well, he really did like blonds.

So when he dropped a second point -- that was, he got ninety-eight points total and Clint had gotten ninety-nine out of a hundred -- he wished he could say it was because he'd done it on purpose, or because Clint was actually the better shot. (He didn't know who was the better shot; probably it was a futile comparison. Clint could kick his ass with a bow and arrow, and Bucky would win any day with a rifle, but with any other weapon, it was anyone's game.)

But that wasn't true; he'd missed. He'd missed because he got distracted because there was an attractive guy nearby. That _sucked_ , but he could fix that.

Bucky set down the gun carefully after popping out the cartridge; he ignored Clint's increasingly-absurd victory dance until he'd cleaned out the weapon and put it back in its case. He did the same with Clint's gun and turned to see the other man moonwalking his way back and forth across the range.

Honestly, it would be a gift to humanity if he stopped him.

Two steps put Bucky in Clint's path; a quick flip put Clint's back against the wall, Bucky's left arm across Clint's chest up by his shoulders. He got right in Clint's face, the tip of his nose an inch or so away from Clint's, and put his best murderous assassin face on. "You cheated," he said, low and deadly and just barely loud enough to be heard. Clint had his hearing aids in, and Bucky knew exactly at what volume and how clearly he had to speak to be understood; he pitched his voice just on the bottom edge of that range.

"Maybe I did," Clint said. His eyes were a strange mix of blue and green and gray, wide and unblinking. He licked his lips, a quick flicker of tongue, before saying, "Whatcha gonna do about it?"

There were two knives in Bucky's belt and another one in his left boot; he could, in a pinch, use the belt to strangle someone, and of course he could just use his left arm. But it wasn't a knife he wanted to put in Clint's body, and oh, man, he was embarrassed even thinking something that cheesy.

He kept that shoved back somewhere where it couldn't be seen and let the murderface transform into something a little less dark and a lot more heated. "I was thinking I could fuck you against the wall," he said.

Clint swallowed; Bucky didn't move an inch, waiting for him to make a decision. "Yeah," Clint said, two or three breaths later. "You should do that. JARVIS, privacy mode."

Bucky waited for the computer to ding, and then leaned forward a couple of inches, just far enough to kiss Clint. He kept it light, even though Clint tried to push for more. "Stay away from my shoulder," he said, jerking his chin to the left a little. "The join's sensitive, and not in a good way."

Clint's left hand was already on Bucky's right shoulder; his right hand was somewhere near Bucky's hip, and he just nodded as if that wasn't surprising. "Don't choke me," he said. "But you already knew that, didn't you?" He looked down at Bucky's arm across his chest.

"Yeah," Bucky said. No point in lying; he'd sparred enough with Clint to know that. "And you already knew about the shoulder." He didn't wait for Clint to nod before he said, "How long have you wanted to fuck me?"

"How long have you been planning this?"

Bucky kissed the smirk right off of his goddamn face. He dropped both his hands to Clint's belt and undid it as well as his fly, shoving Clint's pants down over his hips. Clint wriggled helpfully, and despite the fact that the jeans had been tight enough to show off his ass in a way certainly not helpful to a shooting contest, eventually they hit the floor. 

Clint had to break the kiss for a moment to unlace his boots. Bucky used the break to undo his own belt and fly -- thank God Levi's still made button-fly jeans; it meant he didn't have to worry about zipper chafing -- and to make sure the condoms and lube he'd tucked into a pocket were easily accessible. Once Clint was naked from the waist down, Bucky got a hand under his ass and said, "C'mon, up."

Clint jumped and Bucky steadied him against the wall until he could wrap his legs around Bucky's waist. A little bit of rearrangement lined their cocks up nicely, and Bucky wrapped his hand around them to stroke a few times as he kissed Clint again.

Although 'kiss' was a polite, romantic word; what they were doing was more of a clash of tongues and lips and teeth. Bucky liked it; he liked it a _lot_ , and from the noises Clint was making, he liked it as well. But there was more they could be doing, and Bucky shifted so there was a little room between them. He still had Clint supported with his left arm under him, but he angled a knee against the wall so his right hand could be free.

Clint whimpered when Bucky let go of his cock, but when Bucky broke the kiss to rip open with his teeth the packet of lube he'd pulled out of a pocket, the whimper turned into a groan. "Oh, God, you're gonna kill me."

"What, you want to do it yourself?" Bucky said, holding the packet out.

"No, you do it," Clint said. He dropped a hand down between them and squeezed the lube onto Bucky's fingers, and angled a knee out a little so there was room for Bucky to wriggle his hand between them and end up -- somewhere near --

Ahh, there it was. He rubbed gently around Clint's hole, ignoring the awkward angle of his wrist, and then pushed one finger in slowly.

"Nnnnnngh," Clint said, his head falling back to rest against the wall, eyes closed, teeth set into his lower lip. "More."

"Pushy, pushy," Bucky said, but he pulled out his first finger, rubbed it to spread out the lube a little more evenly, and pushed back in with two.

Clint's face got complicated as he breathed in short puffs out of his nose, so Bucky waited a moment; when Clint opened his eyes and nodded, he curled his fingers inward as best as he could and --

"Augh, _fuck_ yes!" Clint cried out. It was almost a yelp, and Bucky couldn't stop the smirk.

"Perfect aim." He worked his hand in and out of Clint for a minute or so, hitting his prostate when he felt like it, and watching Clint unravel. "Good?" he asked.

"You fucking know it is," Clint said, pinning Bucky with a stare as he dug one set of fingers into Bucky's right shoulder and wrapped his other hand around his own cock. "Fuck me."

"Not yet," Bucky said. He pulled his fingers out, got Clint to add more lube from the almost-forgotten packet in his left hand, and then went back with three.

Clint was tight around three fingers, but not so tight that Bucky was worried he'd hurt him, and after a few more strokes in and out he judged the other man ready. "You good?" he asked aloud, because verbal confirmation was always pleasant.

"Yeah, oh, God, I've been ready for like four _hours_ now," Clint said, and when Bucky pulled his fingers out Clint leaned forward and managed to reach the pocket where Bucky'd stashed the condoms. He had the condom out and was rolling it onto Bucky's cock before Bucky had managed to wipe his fingers well enough to hold onto anything, and Clint spread the last of the lube over the condom as well. His fingers lingered for a moment just below the head of Bucky's cock, and Bucky chuckled.

"Not if you want to get fucked properly, Barton," he said.

"Really? C'mon, Barnes, you're about to shove your dick up my ass and you're calling me by my last name?"

Bucky lined himself up and then used the same hand to brace himself against the wall, letting Clint's body and gravity do most of the work. "Do you want to get fucked properly, _Clint_?" he asked, leaning in and letting a smile spread across his face slowly. "Then say please."

"Fuck you, I don't beg," Clint said, but his voice cracked on a gasp in the middle, and that kind of ruined the effect. Bucky chuckled anyway and kissed Clint as he finished sliding down. It wasn't a great kiss; Clint was somewhat preoccupied, but once he was seated all the way on Bucky he got with the program and caught Bucky's lower lip between his teeth.

Bucky groaned and dropped both hands to Clint's ass, holding him against the wall in exactly the position he wanted, and withdrew slowly before sliding back in.

"You can do better than _that_ ," Clint said, but as he was biting Bucky's earlobe as he said it, it was a bit too garbled to sound like much of a challenge.

"'Course I can," Bucky said, and pushed the loose collar of Clint's t-shirt out of the way to suck a mark near his collarbone. "Just warming you up. You haven't said 'please' yet."

"You're seriously not going to pound me into this wall until I say please?" Clint said, straightening enough to give Bucky a look.

"I can get off from this," Bucky said, continuing the slow in-and-out motion of his hips. He looked down pointedly at Clint's cock, which was standing at attention. "Looks like you're enjoying it too, but you know what to say to pick this up a bit."

"Go faster, asshole?" Clint suggested.

Bucky slapped his ass lightly with his right hand. "Try again, birdbrain."

"Mmm," Clint said, as Bucky bottomed out on that particular stroke. "Go faster, sexy metal-armed fucker?"

"Did you mean the metal arm is sexy, or I'm sexy and also have a metal arm?" Bucky asked.

"Whichever one will get you to -- ah! -- fuck me properly," Clint said.

"Neither. You know what you have to say." Bucky added a bit of a twist to his hips at the end, and Clint jerked, which meant he'd probably managed to nail his prostate there.

"Yeah, right there," Clint said, and Bucky took it as confirmation, but he still didn't pick up his pace.

"Still not the right thing to say," Bucky said. He watched Clint's face; Clint's eyes were closed and he'd started biting his bottom lip again, which was a lot sexier than it had any business being. "Although, you know, not bad," he added.

"Ugh, God, Bucky, fuck me harder," Clint said, almost on a moan, eyes still closed. "You feel so big inside me, shit, you're so strong, got me pinned up here like it's nothing."

Bucky slapped him on the ass again, a little harder but still his right hand. "Hey," he said.

Clint opened his eyes. "Hey, what?"

"You sound like a bad porn," Bucky said. "Don't get me wrong, I'm kind of enjoying it, but don't do it on my account."

"Hey, I steal my dialogue from only the best porn," Clint said, but he grinned. "What _do_ you want from me?"

"Other'n the word 'please'?" Bucky said. "Got what I want." He squeezed Clint's ass. "But if you wanted to put your arms over your head and press your fists against the wall, I wouldn't say no."

Clint lifted his arms and did as Bucky'd requested, thumb-sides of his fists pressed against the wall, his triceps standing out. For a moment Bucky wished he'd asked Clint to take off his shirt, but then he thought about wall-burn on Clint's back and amended that wish. Later, maybe.

He found himself picking up the pace without realizing it, and it took an effort to slow himself back down. Clint hadn't said the magic word, and Bucky kept his promises.

"Aaaugh," Clint said, and pounded one fist against the wall. "Really? You were almost good there."

"Excuse the fuck outta you," Bucky said. "I am _very_ good at all times and places." He leaned in while all the way inside Clint and shoved his hips forward to grind Clint into the wall, and Clint gasped.

"You're killing me here," he said with a groan.

"It's all in your hands, buddy," Bucky said, gritting his teeth. At that point it was getting difficult for him, but he wasn't going to relent.

"I got nothing in my hands because they're on the wall," Clint said, sounding frustrated -- and a bit needy. 

_Good,_ Bucky thought to himself. Almost there. He shifted Clint just enough to change the angle but not enough to provide any leverage for Clint, and thrust deep.

"God, fuck, you're really going to -- shit, I can't --"

There it was.

"Christ, Bucky, I just -- augh, okay, you got me, _please_!" The last word came out almost on a wail, and Bucky chuckled, even though it was a little strained.

"You said the magic word," he said, one side of his mouth ticking up in a smirk. "Your wish is my command."

And, with that, he thrust hard and _fast_.

"Yes, oh, Jesus, fuck, _yes_!" Clint cried out, and Bucky grinned.

If he hadn't been teasing Clint for the last five or ten minutes, Bucky probably could have kept fucking him against the wall for a long time. Clint wasn't that heavy, despite the compactness of his frame, and besides, the knockoff supersoldier serum had to be good for something other than punching the shit out of people, right? But his control was already somewhat frayed, and he was probably only going to keep from embarrassing himself by the fact that however far gone he was right now, he'd pushed Clint farther.

"You need a hand?" he asked Clint.

"Why," Clint said between gasps, "can't keep this up, old man?"

Bucky slid his left arm up and hooked Clint's leg over it and said, "Your choice, Clint."

Clint's head fell back against the wall again, this time with a slightly-audible thump, but he didn't seem to notice. His hands slid down to just over his head, and Bucky pushed them back up with his free hand. "Next time I'm gonna tie them," he said, mostly to himself, but Clint was watching and could either hear him or lip-read well enough to understand.

"The gym -- oh! -- would be a good place for that," Clint said. "Or -- ah! fuck! -- somewhere -- yes OH FUCK that! -- with a, with a -- Christ, Bucky, I -- hook in the -- oh, God, don't _stop_ \-- ceiling."

"Not stopping," Bucky said; it was all he could manage right then, and thank fuck Clint was starting to shake with the beginnings of orgasm. He leaned more of his weight against his left arm and watched Clint's face. "You gonna come?"

"Of course I'm -- ahhhh, _fuck_!" Clint said. "Can I, can I --" He somehow made a clear gesture with his hand without moving his fist off the wall.

"Yeah, go for it," Bucky said. There was no fucking way he was gonna come before Clint did, but he was getting really close right now.

Clint's hand flew down to his cock, almost bumping Bucky's arm on the way down, and he started jerking himself off roughly. "So fucking _close_ ," he said, gritting it out through clenched teeth.

"Do it," Bucky said.

"I'm gonna," Clint said, "oh, I'm gonna -- I'm -- unh -- yeah -- there!" 

Clint's muscles tensed for a moment as he came all over his hand, abs, and the hem of his shirt; the pressure around his cock was almost enough to send Bucky over, too, but he had more control than that.

Barely.

Then Clint brought his hand up to his own mouth and licked up some of his own come with a flash of pink tongue, and Bucky lost it. Two more deep, grinding thrusts and he was coming, white sparks on the edges of his vision, deep shudders threatening his ability to keep upright.

He came back to himself a moment later, his head somehow resting on Clint's shoulder; one of Clint's hands was resting on the back of his head, and it was nice. Bucky pulled his left arm out from under Clint's leg, carefully, and said, "You okay to untangle?"

"Hm?"

Bucky lifted his head and repeated himself. "Are you okay to untangle ourselves?" 

Clint's face was soft, in a way Bucky'd never seen, but he said, "Oh, yeah. My left foot's kinda numb," easily.

It took a minute, and some quick work condom-wrangling on Bucky's part, but eventually they were able to slide down the wall and sit on the floor. Clint's bare ass was on his own jeans, fortunately, and Bucky knotted the used condom and set it aside carefully. His left arm was around Clint's shoulders, although he wasn't exactly sure how that had happened, and Clint had a hand wrapped around Bucky's knee. 

"You good?" Bucky said, because they were being altogether too quiet.

"Oh hell yes," Clint said, and rested his head against the upper part of Bucky's biceps. He lifted it after a few seconds and said, "Sorry."

"You're like six inches away from anywhere you need to worry about," Bucky said, nudging him.

"Yeah, okay," Clint said, and laid his head back down.

"Did I fuck all the sass outta you?" Bucky asked, when Clint was silent again for close to a full minute.

Clint snorted. "Better people have tried."

"Better?" Bucky raised an eyebrow, even though Clint wouldn't be able to see it.

"As good," Clint amended, and squeezed Bucky's knee. "It's kind of cold in here. I won't tell anyone that the Winter Soldier likes to cuddle if you'll join me in a shower."

"The only person you'd actually tell already knows that," Bucky said, yawning. For a second he'd thought about claiming he was just cold, but considering he was wearing most of his clothing still and Clint's shirt, the only thing he was wearing, was rucked halfway up, he really had no ground to stand on. Besides, he did like to cuddle. "But I'll join you in a shower if there's a bed after that."

"You gonna try to fuck the sass out of me again?" Clint asked.

"Maybe, if you're good," Bucky said.

"Excuse the fuck out of you," Clint said, lifting his head and giving Bucky a mock-affronted look. "I'm _very_ good."

"Prove it." Bucky barely managed to suppress the grin, but he did it.

Clint smirked. "It's gonna take more than one day for that."

"I'm game if you are," Bucky said with a shrug.

"Oh, it's on." Clint stood, a little wobbly, and picked up the rest of his clothing before heading to the door.

Bucky chuckled, stood, and followed him.


End file.
